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#LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.? 

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^ [FORCE COLLECTION.] | 

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{united states op AMERICA. { 



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BY 



EDWARD S. SEWARD 
ii 



11 ''y.^ 

/^ Baltimore: 

PRINTED BY JAMES LUCAS. 

1847. 



CONTENTS 



Page* 

Ahab's warning and death, 31 

Cottager, The, 3^ 

Day, Every, 14 

Drinking, On, 16^ 

Error and Strife, Progress of, . . . . 1& 

Fame, O ! give me not, 21 

Hero, The bar room, 2S 

Indians, The Choctaw, leaving for the far 

West, 29^ 

Indulgence, the road to ruin, 9^ 

Man, The unfortunate young, . . . .20 

Man, Signs of a great, 24 

Messiah's birth and death, 35 

Mother and Son, The, 11 

Soldier, To th« Christian, ...... 36 

Solitude, 15 

Talents without wealth, seldom attain to 

high fame, 7 

Water, Ode to, 22 



PREFACE. 



These Poems are taken from a manu- 
script large enough to make a work over 
the size of Milton's '^Paradise Lost." 
They are intended to serve as mere Speci- 
mens of the writer's attempt at Poetry. 
He takes this method of publication^ in 
order to avoid thrusting suddenly into pub- 
lic view, a volume of worthless poetry, 
should his efforts be condemned. The 
writer trusts that he has his country's fame 
at heart, and is therefore unwilling that any 
thing from him, unworthy of her, should 
endure, were it possible. He feels per- 
fectly free to say with the Poet Burns, 
"that after a fair examimation, if he shall 
stand convicted of dullness and nonsense, 
let him be condemned, without mercy, to 



vi PREFACE. 

contempt and oblivion." But if these Spe- 
cimens should be generally and highly ap- 
proved, the writer will then consent to the 
publication of all he has written. Any 
publisher can obtain the manuscripts by 
addressing the author^ Edward S. Seward, 
Middlesex County, Virginia. 

The Author. 

January, 1847. 



POEMS. 



TALENTS WITHOUT WEALTH, SELDOM 
ATTAIN TO HIGH FAME. 

How valueless the colleges that rise, 
To the poor youth that's dooin'd to drive 
the plow ; 
How pauper are the efforts of the wise 
To those that 'neath want's iion sceptre 
bow^ 

As nature hides her brightest gems in earth. 
So she conceals the mighty gifts of mind ; 

And as they polish need to show their worth. 
So need youth's talents of the brightest kind. 

Luxuriant soils send forth most noxious weeds 

That should be purg'd from tender plants 

they bear. 

So brightest genius shooting wild, most needs 

The hand to prune the parts that hurtful 

are ! 



8 POEMS. 

How hard for him then, doom'd to toil, we 
see, 
To win renown and an illustrious name ; 
For nature's gifts, though boundless they may 
be, 
Uncultur'd, rude, can seldom reach high 
fame. 

How few the calls to honor's post we find. 
Of poor by rich, whose wealth has raised 
them high ; 
Their deeds, their writings, though of loftiest 
kind, 
Unnotic'd by the rich or learn'd must die. 

Thus fated are the poor to silence deep. 
Though many with great talents may be 
blest. 

Their names, their efforts must forever sleep. 
In dark oblivion must forever rest. 

No doubt, full many a Cicero we see, 
Forever bound to one small spot of soil. 

While many a Demosthenes may be. 

Who is bethrall'd to ignorant rich to toil. 

And many a Homer touch'd with living fire. 
Too rude, unskill'd to wake the tuneful 
string, 

And weave the dulcet song upon the lyre. 
And with the grandeur of a Milton sing. 



POEMS. 9 

How many a Napoleon of bright parts, 
To bear war's thunder the whole world 
around, 

Or mind of Newton, sage in all the arts. 
Might with the little rustic lads be found. 

And many a Socrates and Plato wise. 
In savage state, in wilderness may roam. 

Who reasons on his being, earth and skies. 
While nature's darkness gross, bends round 
his home. 



INDULGENCE, THE ROAD TO RUIN, 

O muse on that once lovely youth. 

With visage very gay. 
Who lov'd tdir wisdom's ev'ry truth 

And was unwont to stray. 
Until the tempter passed him by 

With his seductive charms, 
And caught his gay and flashing eye. 

Which brought him to his arms. 
Then vice, with its deceitful lore. 

Was brought up to his view ; 
Though perfect stranger theretofore. 

He saw and lov'd it too. 
And sinful pleasures rose to sight. 

While Sirens peal'd their cheers. 
And bottle, with its deadly blight. 

Now spoil'd his many fears. 
His face grew pale — he took no thought, 

Push'd on by folly's goad, 



10 POEMS. 

Nor to opine was he e'er brought ; 

His path was ruin's road. 
And woe, at length, him hunted out 

And stamp'd him for her own ; 
But he his state ne'er thought about, 

Till he had wretched grown. 
His tears, o'er cheeks, stole from his eyes, 

Alono^ their furrows deep, 
When like some one whom all despise. 

He sat him down to weep, 
And thought upon his childhood's home 

With bitterness of grief. 
And bowers where he lov'd to roam. 

But nought brought him relief. 
His dearest offsprings now distress'd. 

Near burst his aching heart. 
While thoughts of better days him press'd. 

And gave the pungent smart. 
To heav'n he rais'd his streaming eye 

From the nude, gelid ground, 
Imploring pardon from on high, 

When came a thunder sound : 
"My laws you've trampl'd under feet. 

My precepts hated you. 
Your cup of sorrow's full complete. 

And woe shall you undo." 
Thus he in pain and anguish deep 

Was led his days to spend ; 
At last he slept eternal sleep. 

Without a single friend. 
I warn you, youth ! where e'er ye be. 

Erratic paths to shun. 
For fear your course too late you see. 

When evermore undone. 



POEMS. 11 

THE MOTHER AND SON. 

There oncp liv'd in Albion, a lad and his mo- 
ther, 
That by stioni^ affections were bound to each 

other ; 
But his country's fame cali'd him, in sad, luck- 
less hoar^ 
And expell'd the young lad from his home and 

his bow'r. 
To roam on the sea, on the wide spreading 

sea. 
While the seething broad billows mov'd on to 

the lee. 
And the storm -god's wild clouds, rolling over 

him dun, 
Breath'd tempests and lightning in th' face of 

the sun. 
For the glory of th' nation he rode the high 

wave. 
To bear her huge thunder along with the 

brave. 
And saw the war-smoke curling far up and 

wide. 
And death on his pale horse sweep over the 

tide : 
Heard the groans of the dying, th' departing 

of breath. 
As their numbers sunk down in the harvest of 

death. 
He sighed for bis home, for his far-distant 

home, 
And the lone, peaceful bowers where he once 

lov'd to roam ; 



12 POEMS. 

And thought of his mother and kindred be- 
hind, 
In the stillness of night on his hammoc re- 

clin'd ; 
But away from his home, long compell'd yet 

to stay, 
Each hour as a year seem'd to circle away ; 
While his mother, fond mother, most deeply 

distress'd, 
Bedew'd with her tears the soft pillow she 

press'd. 
She wept for her son to return, and she griev'd, 
But tidings, no tidings her sad heart reliev'd. 
The seasons came on and the years roU'd 

around. 
Yet no ease for the hell in her bosom was 

found. 
The blush of the rose paled dim on her sight. 
And the jessamine seemed to w^ear a deep 

blight; 
The song of the spring-birds fell harsh on her 

ear, 
And the bright vernal scenes her sad heart 

could not cheer ; 
She oft wander'd alone in the chilly damp air. 
When the night winds would moan and would 

sigh in her hair. 
Stars shone o'er her head with their lustres in 

vain, 
And the moon's silver horns as she wax'd or 

would wane ; 
As the meek lonely doves that for absent mates 

mourn, 
For him far away her sad sorrows she'd borne. 



POEMS. 13 

But while she was dreaming the ocean his bed. 
And thought of his ghost as confin'd with the 

dead, 
A fair, lovely youth to her homestead drew 

near. 
And wish'd as a stranger to her to appear ; 
She gaz'd and she wonder'd what him thither 

brought. 
When pain'd was her heart and her soul filPd 

with thought : 
But soon his fair features she well recogniz'd. 
And seiz'd her young lad, all delighted, sur- 
prised. 
Their meeting was not as a neighbor and 

friend. 
But of kindred, pure hearts that soon mix up 

and blend. 
I saw the same man when his head was all 

hoar, 
When he wrought in America, and roam'd it 

far o'er. 
He told me his wand'rings and place of his 

birth, 
" But where ever I roam," said he, " on this 

earth. 
The vision of mother will haunt me there still ; 
Dear mother, dear mother, my thoughts will 

oft fill. 
She taught me my language, she taught me 

to feel, 
My tears she would wipe, and my woes she 

would heal ; 
She griev'd when my cheeks with sad tears 

would be wet. 
Dear mother, dear mother, 1 ne'er can forget,** 



14 POEMS. 



EVERY DAY. 

A good man strives what's just to do, 
All evil actions to eschew, 
And serve his God with heart that's true ; 
The will perverse here to renew, 
While Heaven hi^h keeps him in view. 
And saints and angels love him too, 

Every day, every day, 
And saints and angels love him too, 

Every day. 

A bad man's first to ills begin, 
And pays his vows to flesh and sin. 
And loves the world's loud feasting din. 
And strives the good from virtue win. 
While all the devils, with a grin, 
Invite their faithful servant in, 

Every day, every day; 
Invite their faithful servant in, 

Every day. 

Some one is born, and some one dies, 
The great sun blazes in the skies, 
And thousand stars all set and rise ; 
Old time on his broad pinion flies, 
And nature beams upon our eyes, 
And we should ail become more wise. 

Every day, every day. 
And we should all become more wise, 

Every day. 



POEMS. 15 



SOLITUDE 



O hide me from the noisy throng. 

With bursts of laughter loud and long. 

Or cursing, raving, maddening, doting. 

To Mammon their whole soul devoting, 

Whose life is all of passion's flame. 

Of struggle for great wealth and fame ; 

Eut seldom find, though hard the strife. 

Tumultuous boil the waves of life : 

Who rights outrage, good men assail, 

And bruit it through the trumpet's wail. 

While many thousand fopling faces 

Are seeking for the highest places ; 

And folly's with her shadow playing. 

And brothers brothers are betraying : 

The grin, the sneer, and quick commotion. 

While man to man pays false devotion ; 

Hide me, O solitude ! then hide 

Beneath thy shady bowers w^ide. 

For when I stray among the crowd. 

The sound of strife is ever loud; 

And my pain'd eyes are never napping, 

But quick my pulse is always tapping. 

While my hurt spirit is me rapping, 

And all my nerves writh'd near to snapping. 

Evermore, evermore ; 
Writh'd near to snapping evermore. 

O grant me some recess far V/ay, 
Where gentle zephyrs round me play. 
Upon a flow'ry surface wide. 
Near where some rill moves on its tide. 



16 POEMS. 

Where humdrum murmurs gently roll. 

To soothe my thought-beleaguer'd soul; 

While through the telescope of time 

I look on scenes once great, sublime ; 

On all that sage or sophist writ, 

Their deep philosophy and wit ; 

While insect tribes all buzzing round, 

Bland omen of repose profound, 

Amid the trees or grove's eclipse 

Where blossoms ope their honey'd lips. 

There, there my mind'd receive new pleasure 

And revel in all nature's treasure. 

And gently rise in sweet devotion. 

While undisturb'd by world's commotion. 

There wrong nor outrag'd rights I'd hear, 

No tale of woe would fill my ear ; 

While I in silence could be viewing 

All that my fathers have been doing, 

And while I was their thoughts pursuing. 

Could choose the good, the bad eschewing, 

Evermore, evermore ; 
The bad eschewing evermore. 



ON DRINKING. 

The many streams drink up the ocean's tide, 
Aejain the ocean drinks the rivers wide. 
And the parch'd earth drinks down the gush- 
ing rain, 
But the hot sun soon drinks it up again. 



POEMS. 17 

Rum drinks all drunkard's pockets light and 

dry, 
While they drink bogheads empty, bloat and 

die ; 
(And their dear consorts drink of sorrows deep, 
(And quaffing hunger down, their offsprings 

weep. 
God's wonders great my puny spirit drink 
When e'er about this universe I think ; 
When stupefied my faculties remain 
Until my reason drinks her thoughts again. 
Too oft my woes drink up my joys all dry, 
But what shall drink the tear that swims the 

eye? 
Pale orphans drink of sorrows keen, and fear, 
But woe will drink the men that vex them 

e'er. 
'Tis wealth that drinks the miser's heart quite 

dry, 
But gold can't drink up death from closing 

eye. 
And honor false drinks up bright reason's 

spark, 
But what shall drink from duellists hell all 

dark ? 
And O, thou death ! shalt drink my breath at 

last. 
But let not hell me drink when life is past : 
Propitious heaven smile, mark not my crime ; 
Absorb me, heavens, in thy realms sublime. 
Where I may drink full draughts of bliss and 

joy. 

And shun the fateful shafts that here destroy. 



18 POEMS. 



PROGRESS OF ERROR AND STRIFE. 

Error is like a little stream, 

Whose waters at its source ne'er gleam, 

And when beheld, 'tis a mere thread, 

But as it creeps 'tis seen to spread. 

Truth then begins to ope his eyes 

And gaze at Error with surprise, 

Essays to barricade the rill. 

And plucks up turf its bed to fill ; 

But now the stream exerts a sway, 

Nought it in narrow bounds can stay : 

The more oppress'd, the more 'tis strugling, 

Reeking and roaring, gushing, bubbling; 

Soon winds its way, on rolls its tide. 

Until it forms a lake, deep, wide, 

In midst of which a mighty gurge. 

Around and round its eddies urge, 

While all the barks that near the tide 

Are snatch'd upon its bosom w^ide ; 

Where drowsy voy'gers never wake 

To ask about the stream or lake. 

Truth stands and weeps and mourns, but still 

He knows not how the gurge to fill. 

Then Anger comes inditing violence. 

Then comes bland Fity begging silence ; 

But Reason must at last decide 

How Truth can quell this mighty tide ; 

By throwing mountains the broad lake in, 

Or piecemeal 'way its waters take in. 

Or Error's like a little cloud 

That booms its thunder fierce nor loud. 

But as it stands it gathers force, 

And then proceeds along its course ; 



POEMS. 19 

And when storm-wing'd it makes no stand, 

But soon is dark'ning all the land. 

Or Error's like some beast that's fell. 

Which though brought forth in some dark dell, 

Few, few the circling years appear. 

Before its snarl and growl we hear ; 

And when the time of manhood's in, 

It roars with a tumultuous din, 

While little beasts its fury dread, 

And all away to dens are fled. 

Or Error's like a serpent sleek, 

Which to the eye appears quite meek, 

While we about us let him crawl, 

And fawn and courtesy low and sprawl. 

And straightly to our bosom led, 

He there insinuates his head, 

And then against our utmost strength 

He drags within his glossy length, 

And there by us he's gladly borne. 

Till he by Truth away is torn. 

Thus Strife, like Error, is but small 

When Envy starts the fiery ball, 

But soon ail friendship crushes it, 

As furiously on rushes it. 

Or Strife is like a little spark 

Just gleaming in a forest dark. 

But soon its flame is tow'ring high. 

And shooting, sparkles on the sky. 

And threat'ning ruin ev'ry where. 

Bright Reason blasts — man's polar star. 



20 POEMS. 



THE UNFORTUNATE YOUNG MAN, 

There was a youth of tender age, 
Well train'd in craft of vice, outrage, 
Who was to shameful gallows brought, 
For a foul murder which he'ji vvrouo^hjt. 
But let us hear his mournful tale^ 
Which may with vicious youth prevail, 
To check them inTTieir fo*^ul career 
As to the gallows they draw near ; 
And caution parents sons to train, 
That they from evil acts refrain. 
( *' 'Twas nought but a bad bringing up 
I That makes me taste this bitter cup." 
«' My crimes," quoth he, " I all confess, 
But this abates not my distress. 
JNo one me good advice e'er gave. 
Although to vice the greatest slave. 
On Sabbaths I was made to w^ork, 
Or in the haunts of ill would lurk : 
Nor heard in father's house a prayer, 
Nor church on Sabbath found me there. 
If I religion had been taught. 
To this sad end I ne'er'd been brought. 

parents ! to your children see, 
Think! think of them, then think of me, 
'Whose anguish, though intensifying, J } j 
Can't crush the soul that's never dying. 

1 wish all youth I could awaken \ 
To shun the course which I have taken: 
All good advice forever hear, 

At church on Sabbath days appear. 
O ye that have a pious friend. 
To him I warn you to attend : 



POEMS. 21 

I warn you with my latest breath 
To shun all crime, to shun this death : 
Through life I found my pleasures marr'd, 
Transgression's way was ever hard." 



O GIVE ME NOT FAME. 

O give me not fame where the warrior bleeds. 
Where the laurels in blood are all dy'd. 

Where sin and guilt sully the noblest of deeds 
And the demons of horror preside. 

O give me not fame on the despot's throne, 
'Mid gold, and 'mid diamonds all fair. 

Where nought but the bloodiest of tyranny's 
known. 
And the gates of mild mercy shut are. 

O give me not fame that is bought here with 
gold. 
That is destin'd to be of short life. 
While the fairest of burnish must soon become 
old. 
And among greedy heirs there is strife. 

Nor give me the fame by the infidel won. 
That would drive me from God, far away, 

To dwell with dark spirits forever undone. 
Where nought lights the darkness to day. 

But give to me fame of that nature which 
flows 
From a love to my God and mankind. 



22 POEMS. 

A desire to remove all humanity's woes, 
Soothe the pale, dunffeon'd mourners con- 
finM. 

Next grant me the fame that from science 
arise, ; , ._, 

Surpassing all gems' purest rays, 
That the wonders I read in the earth and the 
skies, 
And scan their great Author's deep ways. 



ODE TO WATER. 

Cold water! water, best of gifts. 
Lying within earth's thousand rifts, 
Unbar thy streams, let them run free, 
And flow the only drink for me. 
The only drink by mortals known 
That keeps bright reason on her throne, 
While alcohol, that demon strange, 
Ne'er fails our moral thoughts derange. 
His poisonous draught, however small. 
Bright reason murders, weaves her pall. 
How vain the big stare and the boast. 
And banquet song of passions' host : 
Nor can the glee nor godless prayer 
E'er move the bowels of despair ; 
While ev'ry place he's wont to dwell 
Is made the truest type of hell : 
And folly's vultures pluck the heart. 
And madness throws his iron dart. 



POEMS. 33 

While furies let their snakes all down 
To weave anew each hissing crown. 
Cold water ! water ! let thy stream 
Run purling o'er the pebbles' gleam. 
The nectar from the sombrous cloud. 
The sable throne of thunder loud ; 
When summer heat oppresses me, 
O let me take my fill of thee. 
And stray among; the fields of balm, 
Or roam amid the woods of palm ; 
While firm, serene, remains my mind, 
And this eternal truth I find, 
That during all my w^aking hours, 
Quite stable are my mental pow'rs. 
No fumes nor foggy vapors rise. 
No spectres dance before my eyes ; 
Nor dizziness nor vertigo 
My halcyon moments ever know. 
Cold water ! water ! plenteous, free. 
Thus let thy silv'ry streams e'er be. 
While bleeding fast at ev'ry vein, 
Let them spread wide each blooming plain. 
For thou the only drink, we find. 
That God for man or beast design'd. 
O let me by thy fountains stray- 
In the hot summer's sultry day. 
And hear the thousand murm'ring rills, 
As glide they from the vine-rob'd hills ; 
And to thy flowing springs repair, 
And see the blains wide bursting there. 
While pearly sands forever rise 
In twinkling curves before the eyes ; 
There seat myself beneath shades cool, 
Quaff nature's cordial from her pool, 



24 POEMS. 

To alcohol long years I bow'd, 

Nor once saw throu^i^h his murky cloud ; 

But though to him a slave was I, 

I could his utmost pow'r defy. 

But when the lights of temp'rance shone, 

His dark robe dofF'd, his venom known, 

From him I fled for the pure stream, 

Where pearly pebbles brightly gleam; 

And have for many years now tri'd, 

The bliss that flows from temp'rance' side ; 

And am resolv'd, though millions break 

Their solemn vo^ws, his chain 'gain take, 

To drink of thee, O pearly fount, 

That flow'st beneath the leafy mount. 

Until a tenant of the tomb, 

With the pale genii in death's gloom. 



SIGNS OF A GREAT MAN. 

The following lines are founded on Phrenology 
and Biography. 

His head is large, and tall and wide, 
And fill'd with brain from side to side ; 
While forehead's rising broad and high, 
And stern and steadfast is his eye. 
His skin is often healthy, red, 
Light hair's oft found upon his head ; 
And skull's not fill'd with spungy matter. 
Which makes men's tongues gib -gab and clat- 
ter ; 
And though he's almost always ugly, 
His features fit his face (juite snugly. 



POEMS. 25 

In realms of thought he's found to stroll, 

When lights divine stir up his soul. 

He's never fond of pomp and splendor. 

To empty show, he's no pretender ; 

So he's protected from the cold, 

His garments may be nev7 or old : 

And fashions he cares nought about. 

His tailor may cut in our out. 

His coat-skirts may be long or short. 

Quite narrow, broad, or any sort ; 

While patches shine upon his breeches, 

And coat's all fill'd with great white stitches ; 

That is to say, when he's no friend 

To give him new, or old clothes mend. 

His house may be of logs or boards, 

Just as his little cash affords, 

Still he possesses the same pride 

As those that live in buildings wide ; 

Forjudge^, he of worth, we find. 

Not by men's dollars, but their mind. 

Of down or straw may be his bed. 

An old hat may be on his head ; 

While furthermore it makes no matter 

If he be blacksmith or be hatter. 

His horse may be quite fat or lean. 

Be of high blood, or middling, mean ; 

But if he cares for aught, 'tis tallow. 

And not high blood, with bones quite shallow. 

In kinds of food he's not much choice, 

Ne'er mutters with complaining voice : 

And ever laughs and looks with scorn 

On little minds of men rich-born, 

Who measure greatness by their dollars, 

And love the sycophant that follows ; 



26 POEMS. 

And love the wine, and love the table, 
Love their fat horses in the stable ; 
And love the s;arments of that kind. 
Such as they think betoken mind ; 
And are unable to say whether 
The meanest bird wears finest feather. 
As the great light shed from the sun 
That puts out stars when night is done. 
So the great man's among his kind, 
That shines and dazzels by his mind. 
For though the stars that ride on high. 
Or seen in the saloon of sky, 
And deck the halls of heav'n by night, 
When the great sphere is lost from sight. 
Are numberless, of brilliant glow. 
And thousand lustres from them throw ; 
Yet when the sun is seen to rise, 
They close their lights up in the skies. 
Thus little minds all shine quite bright 
While genius is far out of sight, 
But soon as he, so mighty, tall. 
Appears in sight, they vanish all. 



THE BAR ROOM HERO, 
As described in a Newspaper. 

As we stroU'd up a street quite fair. 
We saw a house, no matter where ; 
But this to say, we undertake, 
That there, without the least mistake. 
King Alcohol his sceptre sway'd 
Mid royalty in rags display'd. 



POEMS. tf 

There sat the hero by the fire. 
Or guzzle old, if you desire, 
Surrounded by full many a scrub. 
Whom Bacchus had vouchs af'd to dub ; 
All noble knights of ancient garter. 
No knights of Bacchus truly smarter: 
Or knights of Bottle, if you please, 
"Who love the sound of Bacchus' keys. 
These of good rum then had no stint, 
Had fought in many a turn o-inint ; 
While on their faces many a scar 
Was seen with Bacchus' beauties rare. 
But there the noblest knight of all. 
The hero sat, of them most tall : 
As he th' absorbing bottle took 
He ey'd it with a dreamy look, 
His cheeks were rubicund all o'er, 
While finest tints of rum they bore : 
Carbuncle, ruby, and like gem 
Were flaming ornaments on them. 
His nose was somewhat of png-jiacious. 
Mound of humanity quite spacious ; 
A redoubt that no force could rape. 
That threaten'd with its red-hot grape 
All enemies his face approach 
Or on its rights should e'er encroach. 
His hat and pants were, though much torn, 
Such as by Bacchus' knights are worn. 
So long he'd hung such courts about 
In dexter leg there was the gout ; 
Hence with more freedom now drank he. 
Lest in the other leg it be. 
But thanks ! these heroes are now rare 
As rotten shads that hateful are ; 



28 POExMS. 

And full as scaly are as they, 

Whether in August or in May. 

But then perchance enough we'll find 

To show the genus of their kind : 

If not to homo*, then do they 

To genus susf belong, we say. 

If other marks should all be fled, 

We'll know them by their trimmings red 

Which all upon their faces wear, 

While on their coats no trimmings are. 

'Twas now^ and then the hero sang, 

While Bacchus' temple loudly raiig : 

And when his voice would husky seem, 

He'd take a gulp to clear the phlegm ; 

While "purging amber" were his eyes. 

Which struck us with no great surprise. 

Though each like a red flitch of bacon, 

If in our minds we're not mistaken. 

But midst of all their Bacchus joy, 

A man was found to them annoy. 

Who, with a noble step and fleet. 

Cried "temperance meeting down the street." 

''Temperance lecture" ! guzzle cri'd. 

While stern the sober man he eyed : 

"Temperance meetings are, we think. 

Quite well for those that love hard drink ; 

But as for sober men like we. 

Their use we ne'er been made to see." 

When thus he'd spoke, he dreamy sat, 

Regarding neither this nor that. 



*Homo, Man. 
j-SuSf Swine. 



POEMS. 29 

THE CHOCTAW INDIANS, 

Leaving for the Far West. 

The white man has come, and has press'd us 

with wo, 
And says that we Indians to far West most go ; 
And yield up this soil, so long our dear home, 
Forlorn and forsaken, in wild woods to roam ; 
Where bring forth their young all the ravenous 

beasts. 
Where they revel in slaughter, and hold their 

mad feasts. 
But hollow and fell all our thoughts truly are, 
Divorc'd from this land w^hich we soon must 

leave far. 
Sweet fields ! must we leave you, for strangers 

a home. 
Away from th' green graves of our sires all 

roam ; 
Earth's fairest delights, and our childhood's 

bright ease, 
All the notes of sweet birds that float far on 

the breeze ? 
Must we leave you, O ! woods ! O ! ye vales ! 

and each hill 
That we nam'd in our childhood, and love 

those names still : 
Ye brooks ! and ye rills ! and each broad 

silv'ry lake ! 
Wherein at high noon we were wont our thirst 

slake ? 
But ah ! we must go, leave this soil to us kind,^ 
And we bid it adieu as we leave it behind. 



30 POEMS. 

From these world-seeking men our last home 

now must be, 
And we dwindle in number as t' ocean tend 

we. 
Like the sun in his journey, far West we move 

o'er, 
And like him, shall there set, aye, to rise 

nevermore. 
Farewell ye bright scenes, then forever fare- 
well, 
Bright scenes' that in childhood our bosoms 

would swell. 
Farewell, too, green graves of our sires that 

sleep, 
The dew of high heaven shall long on you 

weep : 
But the stranger shall come, and your beauties 

be shorn. 
And the green turf be marr'd, and the wild 

flower torn. 
Farewell, O ye vales I and ye brooks, and ye 

rills. 
Never more shall we see you, nor yet the 

bright hills : 
And the music and notes of your sweet sing- 
ing bird, 
Never more in this^life by our ears shall be 

heard. 
But though we so far are now forc'd from it 

dwell, ; 
In dreams we will visit this land we love 

well ; 
The tombs of our sires that long here have 

slept. 
Upon whose green bosoms we've oft knelt and 

wept. 



POEMS. $1 

Then, O happy land ! mild and calm be thy 

sky 
For the sake of our sires that in thee now lie. 
Spring up^ O ye vines ! and flow on, all ye 

streams ! 
For though distant away, w^e will haunt you 

in dreams. 
Thou land of our fathers, we've lov'd thee too 

well, 
Nor thought of the evils our sires befell. 
But now sorely press'd, for our home much we 

grieve. 
Thou land of our fathers, reluctant we leave. 
Then fare you well, white man ! remember 

you well, 
All this soil was once ours whereupon you 

now dwell ; 
The gift of th' Great Spirit to us ever kind, 
While your portion you've left o'er the flood 

far behind. 



ahab's warning and death. 

Mab to his prophets. 

Shall I, rev'rend seers, to far Gilead ascend. 
That Ramoth our own from proud Syria we 

rend ? 
Shall Gilead be red with the blood of the slain, 
While thousands lie welt'ring in gore on the 

plain ? 



32 POEMS. 

Shall the red gush of war like a deluge there 

pour, 
While the hoarse shock of battle as whirlwinds 

shall roar ? 
Shall the Syrians be shov'd off as by a horn'd 

flood. 
While the war-steed shall proudly exult in 

their blood? 

The Prophets. 

Go up, mighty king ! in proud battle array. 
For the Lord will deliver you Earaoth that 

day; 
The field shall be red with the blood of the 

slain. 
And th€ war-horse shall trample the gore on 

the plain : 
For with iron horns shall the Syrians be 

driv'n 
Till all their strong bands shall asunder be 

riv'n ; 
Syria's king from the shock flying swiftly 

away, 
Shall leave the death-field with great terror that 

day ; 
Whilst thou with proud Israel their victor shalt 

stand, 
Be the owner and king of the bloody-fought 

land ; 
While thy arms all victorious be stain'd with 

their gore. 
And thy banner unfurl'd shall then wave the 

plain o,er : 



POEMS. 83 

The Syrians all stiff in their proud martial 

dress. 
With their bosoms all gory on th' earth that 

they press. 

Mab to Micaidh. 

Micaiab, Macaiah, shall t' Gilead we go. 

To battle for Ramoth with th' Syrians our foe ? 

Will the Lord on that day unto us give the 

land, 
And Syria be scattered and broken her band ; 
While the field shall be red with the gore of 

the slain, 
And the fugitives leaving the blood-reeking 

plain. 
Shall we wave over Gilead the victor's proud 

spear, 
While the Syrians aloof shall be shudd'ring 

with fear ? 

Micaiah, 

I warn thee, Ahab ! by the vision I saw. 
That you press not your bands to far Gilead 

to war. 
For I saw Israel scatter'd on hills as lost sheep, 
While the groans of the dying constrained me 

to weep ; 
And Gilead was reeking with blood of the 

slain. 
And warriors lay cold on the battle's broad 

plain. 



34 POEMS. 

Beware then, O I king I of that bloody dark 

day, 
When you draw up your bands in proud battle 

array ; 
For Israel shall fugitive to the hills flee, 
Black horror and slaughter you shall that day 

see. 

Mab to Micaiah, "" 

How long shall I charge thee, thou impious, 

false seer, 
To let not your falsehoods 'gain light on my 

ear ; 
But speak truth from the Lord as deliver'd to 

you. 
Let your words be from heaven unwav'ringly 

true : 
Now bread, and now water thy portion shall 

be 
Until I victorious from the battle you see. 
So he marsbal'd his bands and to Gilead re- 

pair'd. 
But the archers press'd on him and followed 

him hard; 
And a dart 'tween the joints of his harness him 

tore. 
When his blood in the chariot was seen fast to 

pour: 
Thus died king Ahab the seer's words to ful- 
fill, 
When Israel was scalterM on many a hoar bill. 



POEMS. 35 

Messiah's birth and death. 

The theme began when the Lord said, 

And firm was the decree, 
Eve's seed should bruise the serpent's head. 

But bruise his heel should he. 
And ages on, more shone the light 

To this lost world retrieve, 
When God to prophets did indite, 

A virgin should conceive ; 
And bear a son of royal birth, 

Whom nations should adore, 
A prince to issue laws on earth. 

And rule the wide world o'er. 
And patient Job was led to say. 

His great Redeemer'd stand 
Upon the earth in latter day 

With a bright shining band. 
The star at length rose in the sky. 

O'er Bethl'hem shed its flame, 
When gleamM its radiance far on high. 

And thither wise men came. 
The Shepherds watching flocks were found. 

When lo ! in the bright air, 
Glad Seraphim did hover round. 

Good will to man declare. 
And John then cri'd in wilderness. 

Prepare the way to skies ; 
Ye tow'ring hills, your heights depress. 

And let the valleys rise. 
A voice at his baptism came. 

And through the heavens peal'd, 
This is my son, I own his name. 

Which his high mission seal'd. 



36 POEMS. 

His miracles spoke him heaven-born. 

For energy divine 
Imparted health to sick, for-lorn, 

Whom did disease confine. 
A Laz'rus felt omnific pow'r 

Thrill through his putrid frame ; 
And death was shock'd in that dread hour 

"When from the tomb he came. 
And when his course on earth was done. 

When he for man must die. 
Gross darkness cloth'd the wounded sun. 

He veil'd his face on high : 
And nature in convulsions shook 

And gave an awful nod ; 
With horrid pangs she could but look 

On anguish of her God. 
E'en universe herself did weep. 

And hide her head in pain, 
And mourn'd through boundless ether deep 

When God for man was slain. 
The pale Centurion who there saw 

These mighty wonders done. 
Loud testifi'd with trembling awe, 

This truly was God's son. 



TO THE CHRISTIAN SOLDIER. 

Although the christian's humble name. 
The wicked seek babtize in shame. 

Never fear! 
For with a boundless pow'r 
God guards the trying hour. 

Never fear! 



POEMS. 37 

Though infidels may here be ruthless, 
And treat religion all as truthless. 

Never fear ! 
For God, high over head. 
Will strike their fury dead. 

Never fear ! 
And though hell's thunder bolts be red. 
And though its shafts with wrath be sped. 

Never fear! 
For God, whose word is true. 
Will fight your battles through. 
Never fear! 
And though seductive sirens sing, 
And the fierce Scorpion moves his sting, 

Never fear ! 
For Heaven's on your side. 
Your footsteps here to guide. 

Never fear! 
Although the tyrants axe is bright. 
Though persecutors throng in sight. 

Never fear! 
For God will guard your way 
Quite through the perilous day. 
Never fear! 
And though for martyrs fagots blaze. 
And ruthless bigots fiercely gaze. 

Never fear! 
For under God's control 
Is ev'ry suff'ring soul, 

Never fear ! 
Although the world's fierce tempest sings. 
And darkness spreads her raven wings. 

Never fear ! 
For heaven has no cloud. 
No bellowing thunders loud. 

Never fear ! 



38 POEMS. 

And though this mortal life must fade, 
And christians through death's gloom must I 
wade. 

Never fear ! 
For death's the path to God, 
The road by prophets trod, 

Never fear! 



THE COTTAGER. 

Within a forest solitary, drear 

The lonely cot of this poor lab'rer stood ; 
And many an ivy-crested hill was near. 

That rose with lofty height amid the wood. 

Confin'd he was to this small spot of soil. 
Which many a year had borne its sturdy/ 
oaks, 
That yielded but to manly constant toil, 

And the huge axe with many hard-heav'dl 
strokes. 

Here midst the tuneful warblers of the grove. 
He walk'd along the lowly paths of life ; 

Nor did his wishes ever learn to rove 

In noisy circles gay, where all was strife. 

His presence ne'er had known a college hall, , 
Not e'en the alphabet alone he'd learnM ; 

From nature was his little knowledge all, 
Nor was his wealth but that which he hadl 
earn'd. 



POEMS. 39 

Chill poverty had bow'd his humble soul, 
And many useful lessons had him taught; 

For though his moments slow away did roll, 
Contentment smooth'd the rugged brow of 
thought. 

No glitt'ring fame his heart had ever fir'd, 
IVor had ambition stirr'd a useless rage ; 

His food, his clothes was all that he desir'd. 
While oit devotion would his mind engage. 

He, day by day, at morning's early dawn, 
Ere the great sun above the hills would 
gleam. 

While yet the dew was sparkling on the lawn. 
Would drive afield his slowly moving team. 

With assiduity he turn'd the soil, 

And waited long for the life-giving show'r ; 
Nor would he murmur midst his constant toil. 

Although a providence might seem tolow'r. 

And when his soil its little stores would yield, 
Ere winter blew his boreal breath so cold. 

He'd gather'd them from off the lab'ring field 
And safely pent his flocks both young and 
old. 

And while the winter pass'd its cheerless 
round 
He rais'd his hatchet 'gainst the sturdy oak, 
And crackling fires would on his hearth-stone 
sound. 
While the huge chimney roU'd away its 
smoke. 



40 POEMS. 

A wife he had, a faithful partner too, 

And children several, healthful, gay and fair. 

Who aided hiro in all that they could do, 
While he for them seem'd very much to 
care. 

A happy family they were indeed. 

For as their portion here of wealth, was 
small. 
Their cares were few, their minds from tur- 
moils freed. 
Their thoughts were bounded by their little 
all. 

His labors hard produc'd the plenteous board, 
Prepar'd his appetite for each repast, 

And though he could not gold in coffers hoard, , 
Great plenty crown'd his labors to the last. . 

I sat with him at his own board one day. 

And found a rich repast on it indeed. 
Meats, vegetables, dress'd in ev'ry way, 
^ On which the richest might with pleasure : 
feed. 

All was so well prepar'd, so neat, so clean. 
While his young daughter, rosy, blithe and i 
fair. 

With fleetest step around the board was seen, , 
And tended on each one with greatest care. . 

The lab'ririg poor in ev'ry place, I find. 

All better live than rich who heap in store ; , 

Enjoy their solid food of ev'ry kind 
Much more than those who count their mil-- 
lions o'er. 



POEMS. 41 

How hard the poor do strive to entertain 
The rich, that ev'rywhere them all despise. 

And slight the blessings honest labors gain. 
Still think themselves so philosophic, wise. 

The garments of the poor, though coarse, are 
clean, 

They're all that honest labor them affords ; 
And though a hundred menials are not seen. 

Oft richest dainties are upon their boards. 

The laboring poor are more contented all. 
Than rich who deck themselves with jew- 
els fair. 
For though their little wealth while here's so 
small. 
By labor hard, suppli'd their wants all are. 

Their chance is greater far for heav'nly rest 
Than that of rich who love their wealth so 
well. 
For more men toil, and more they are opprest. 
The more they strive in heaven's joys to 
dwell. 

Where pride is absent, shame is absent too ; 

How easily the poor man's found to bend 
To rev'rence God and pay devotions due. 

While rich refuse to own him as their friend. 

Before his God this cottager would kneel, 
At morn and eve his fervent prayers would 
rise ; 
And more true joys through life here did he 
feel 
Than those who did his humble lot despise. 



42 POEMS. 

At last he died, and to the grave was borne, 
And found his bed beneath the valley's clod ; 

When his poor v^^idov^^ ceas'd not long to mourn 
Although she trusted in her Savior, God. 

No polish'd marble points his place of gloom, . 

No frail memorial there is to be found. 
Save that the wild weeds there in summer; 
bloom, 
While nodding oaks wide wave their foliage ' 
round. 

Though humble was his lot, though low he lies, 
The rich, like him, in dust must find their 
bed ; 

No difference is 'twixt poor and rich and wise. 
Within the mansion of forgotten dead. 



THE END 



p'^ 



LIBRARV OF CONGRESS 




